


I'll Go

by thewolvescalledmehome



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jonsa Summer Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 12:04:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11463222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvescalledmehome/pseuds/thewolvescalledmehome
Summary: Jon works at an animal shelter and is shocked when the beautiful redhead volunteer offers to join him on a day trip to pick up an unwanted dog. The idea of spending twelve hours in the car with her is both thrilling and terrifying, given that he's pretty sure she'd avoided him for the year she'd been volunteering at the shelter.For Day 1 of the Jonsa S7 Summer Challenge: Food and Drink or Travel (I choose travel).





	I'll Go

**Day 1: Travel**

"I'll go." 

Jon couldn't believe his luck, or his ears for that matter. When Mormont said there was a dog that needed to be picked up up north he said he was happy to do it. He didn't mind the drive and enjoyed riding back with the dogs. He was going to ask Sam if he wanted to go when Mormont suggested to take some one along as it was a long drive, but the beautiful redheaded volunteer popped up from the playpen and offered instead. 

"Are you sure? We're going to be in the car together for twelve hours." Jon gave her the chance to back out, torn between wanting her to go and wanting her to stay. She's been volunteering at the shelter for nearly a year and they've said all of probably ten words to each other. He wasn't sure if it was by chance that their paths rarely crossed or if she actively avoided him. He couldn't blame her, it was a small town and there were quite a few rumors about him, and some of them were true. Though that wouldn't explain why she would suddenly volunteer herself to be alone in the truck with him for eight hours.  

"I haven't been on a pick up before," she shrugged. Jon turned to Mormont, to see if he would suggest taking someone actually employed by the shelter, but he was shrugging as well. 

 "I would head home now then, so you can get an early start in the morning. If you leave early enough you can probably make it back tomorrow night." Sansa, the redhead, nodded and ducked back into the playpen. Jon waited for more instruction from Mormont, but all he got was the information of the family with the dog and that the truck would be ready for them in the morning. He went home trying not to think about spending all day alone with Sansa. 

 

* * *

 

It was nearing eleven at night when Jon realized he hadn't set a time with Sansa to meet at the shelter. He dug out the contact information for all the volunteers and shot her a text. 

  **This is Jon Snow from the shelter. I thought we'd meet at the shelter around six. Let me know if that works for you.**

He thought afterwards that maybe he should've included where he got her number from, but didn't want to text her twice and be more annoying. 

It was an hour later when her response woke him up.

**Sounds good. :)**

 He had the brief thought that maybe she was planning to sleep in the truck, as it was six hours there, before rolling over and going back to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

 She was late. It was a quarter past six and Jon had been waiting for almost thirty minutes. He hadn't wanted to unlock the shelter just to wait, so he sat in the tuck, but that wasn't much warmer than the temperature outside. 

 Just when he was beginning to think he should call her, or just head out without her, a blue car pulled into the lot. He had planned to wait in the truck, but when he saw she had multiple things she was carrying he sighed heavily and opened the door. 

"Hi! I'm so sorry I'm late. My car wouldn't start and my sister had to jump it. I hope we aren't too off." She smiled earnestly and his irritation started to fizzle. 

"No, no, not too far off." Though they were father off than he would have liked to be. "What's all this, then?" She had canvas bags in both her hands and he was still taking some into his own. 

 "We're to be in the truck for at least six hours today. I thought it best to be prepared." Jon couldn't begin to image what she thought was necessary with the amount she packed—all he'd brought was his water bottle and his phone charger. 

They settled the bags in the back seat of the cab, aside from the one she set by her feet, and Jon climbed back in the drivers seat. 

"Ready?" He asked, mostly just to be polite. Jon didn't know when he intended to do if she said she wasn't. She nodded though, and he started the truck. 

 It had been years since Jon had driven in a car with a woman riding in the passenger seat, and he had forgotten how long it took women to settle. First she was rummaging through her bag, then adjusting the way she was sitting, then pulling stuff out of the bag. From the corner of his eye he watched as she pulled a blanket out, followed by a thermos, travel mugs, and a small container. 

 "Coffee? I made it black. I wasn't sure how you drank it." Jon initially wondered what in the seven hells she needed coffee for—she appeared wide awake, but then the offer sank in and Jon realized what a nice gesture it was—that she thought to make it black, that she brought two mugs. 

 "Sure. Thanks. Black is fine." She poured the coffee carefully into the mug and set it in the cup holder closest to him. At the next stoplight, Jon took a drink, feeling the blissful warmth. 

Jon focused on the road then, until they got out of the city and were on country roads. She was still moving about next to him but he couldn't glance over and see what she could be possibly doing. At least she's quiet, he thought. There could be worse people to spend twelve hours in a car with. 

 "Would you like a muffin?" She asked once they were out of the city. Jon spared a second to look and saw her lap covered with baked goods. His breakfast had consisted of toast with butter—he was out of jam, but he was always out of jam. His stomach started growling as if it could smell the food nearby. 

"Thanks." He ate one handed, internalizing the moan that came with biting into it. It was after he finished it that he had to consider that her being prepared was actually a blessing and not a nuisance. "What else have you got in those bags?" 

 The first hour they drove in what was close to comfortable silence. Jon thought that there was an undercurrent of awkwardness, but he wasn’t sure if it was really there or if he was imagining it. She had curled up under the blanket and was watching the scenery pass them—at least he thought that was what she’d done, based on the blur he could see out of the corner of his eye.

 Jon realized that maybe driving with her wasn’t so bad. As long as he focused on the road, he couldn’t see much of her, just a fuzzy outline that could belong to anyone. The redhead could be Tormund if he squinted, and the anxiety he felt at driving in the car with her started to lessen, until she decided to strike up a conversation.

“So, are you training to be a vet like Sam?” He shouldn’t be surprised at any part of this question. That she talked to Sam, that she assumed he would be training to be a vet like him, that she didn’t realize Sam was the outlier at the shelter, not the rule. He would’ve chuckled if the thought wasn’t painful.

 “No, no. I think Sam’s the only one training to be a vet,” he admitted. He didn’t think half of them could be a vet, or much of anything, being convicted felons, and the other half of them had been tried as felons but weren’t convicted. _That’s right, you weren’t convicted, you weren’t guilty,_ he had to remind himself. That didn’t mean it was any easier to get a job when the trial was over. He’d had a sympathetic jury and a lot of the townspeople disagreed. Mormont’s shelter was the only place that would higher him, not that he minded. He loved helping the animals.

 “What’re the rest of you doing, then? If you’re all not training to be a vet?” This time Jon did chuckle. The only reason she saw to work at a shelter was if you were training to be a vet. She didn’t understand what the place really was to a lot of them, or that some of them didn’t have a choice. She lived in a different world.

“Working,” he answered, waiting to see if she’d force him to explain. They still had about eleven hours in the car together. It would be an awkward drive if she panicked about being in a car with him now. 

“Ah,” was what she said instead, and they lapsed back into silence.

 

* * *

Another hour later they stopped to use the bathroom, and she offered more food from her apparently endless supply. For this leg of the journey, he saw her pull out a book—he imagined it was a textbook, given the thickness.

“Midterms are coming up. I’ve only got one more semester, then grad school.” He thought he heard something akin to irritation in her voice, but he just made a noise to acknowledge that he heard her. He couldn’t imagine what college, or grad school were like, having never gotten the chance. He’d most likely work at the shelter for the rest of his life. He wouldn’t allow himself to wonder what it was like.

She appeared to study until their next rest stop, and Jon thought she might continue afterwards, but she returned the book to her bag when they got back to the truck.

“I can’t focus on laws anymore. My head’s starting to pound,” she explained. Jon’s gut clenched at the word _laws_.

“What’re you studying?” he found himself asking. He had to know if it was a coincidence or if it was a calculated point she was making.

“I’m pre-law. I want to be a defense attorney—one of the ones they give to people who can’t afford their own.”

“Oh?”

“I need to do something _helpful_. I haven’t got the science brain for a doctor.” He wondered if she knew that the state appointed defense attorneys were rarely helpful, and even less often actually considered helpful. _Yours was though. Helpful enough that the verdict was not guilty._

He wondered if she knew. If she was aware that she was sitting in a truck with a man who had been tried for manslaughter. He wondered if she’d care, if she’d start to treat him like the rest of the town did.

 

* * *

“So what are we picking up? A dog, right?” she asked, turning to look at the paperwork between their seats. There was a picture of the dog they were to pick up in there. “Is this a dog or a wolf?” Sansa flashed the picture in his direction. She may have thought the quip was funny or clever, but it rankled Jon. That was the very reason the poor creature was being abandoned he suspected. He bit his tongue, though. They had another six hours to drive back.

“I think this is the exit,” she instructed. Jon obliged, turning off at the small road she’d indicated.

They drove quietly down a bumpy, narrow road. Jon started to get a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, hairs standing on end. He’d gotten this feeling before, on the first pick up he’d been on with Mormont. That one had been for what they’d thought was a husky, but turned out to be a wolf. The owners couldn’t tell the difference until it started to act too wild to be a domesticated pet. That wasn’t when they decided to call the shelter though. They’d tried to beat the wild from the animal first. Jon had thrown up afterwards. The wolf didn’t survive long enough to be rereleased. He hoped he wouldn’t have to put Sansa thought that. He didn’t know how he would handle her reaction.

That feeling intensified when they pulled up outside the house. It was a rundown farm house with lots of land—kept in good shape, it would’ve been the perfect home for this type of dog, but Jon didn’t think they’d find a happy place inside.

“Bring in that paperwork. I’ll get the leash and collar.” Sansa nodded, taking up the folder. He wanted to warn her, but he couldn’t find the words. They walked up to the house together, but when they reached the door, Jon angled himself in front of her.

A watery-eyed man opened the door. Jon immediately hated the man. He had a cruel look to him and Jon didn’t care if it was irrational or not.

“We’re from the shelter, to pick up the dog,” Sansa explained when Jon just clenched his jaw. He felt a hand on the back of his arm, and he initially stiffened at the touch, until he realized it was Sansa’s hand and it was meant to be a reassuring, calming gesture.

“Beast’s down here.” He pointed them towards an outdoor cellar.

“You’ve been keeping the poor thing outside?” Sansa asked. Jon thought she sounded outraged.

“Well, I couldn’t very well keep it in the house. Got a baby in there.”

Jon thought he heard Sansa scoff behind him. He felt himself thawing towards her.

The man opened the cellar doors to reveal a rickety set of stairs. Jon couldn’t believe he’d managed to get the dog down them, and wasn’t sure how he’d be able to get the dog back up.

“I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be in the house, if you’ve got paperwork.” Once he’d gone, Jon started down the steps, but turned back quickly.

“Sansa,” he spoke her name for the first time. “I think it’s best if you wait up here.” Jon saw something flash in her eyes before crossed her arms over the folder.

“I think it’s best that I give you a hand.” Jon sighed, knowing they didn’t have time to argue and led her down.

The cellar was small, dark, and cold. It smelled of shit and fear. It was empty, aside from the dog and a watering bowl. Frankly, Jon was impressed that they had thought to include water for the poor thing. His heart dropped when he saw that the dog had been chained to a pole with very little slack, and the floor was covered in messes from the dog. They apparently hadn’t thought to bring the dog back up for the dog to relieve itself.

“Oh, poor thing!” Sansa cried.

 “Sansa, be careful. It looks half mad.” To his utter shock, she kneeled down in front of it, staining her jeans.

 “Jon, untie him while he’s focused on me,” she muttered. Jon was going to tell her not to be ridiculous, but her plan was valid. He pulled on his thick gloves and carefully skirted his way behind the dog while it was focused on Sansa.

Without either of them being bitten, though not for a lack of trying on the part of the dog, the managed to get it up the stairs and into the kennel in the back of the truck. Sansa offered to go take in the paperwork, so that Jon could keep an eye on the dog, but he didn’t like the idea of her going in alone.

Inside, the man signed the forms without reading them, quickly as he could, his nose wrinkled against the smell they now both carried.

“Oh, what’s that smel—” A woman came around the corner, a baby on her hip. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw them.

“They’ve come to take the beast away.”

“I want him out of my house.”

“The dog’s in the kennel, in the truck. Though I couldn’t say that it was in the house in the first place. That cellar is no place for a—” Sansa started, sounding indignant.

“Not the beast. _Him_.” She pointed at Jon. “The murderer.” Sansa stilled next to him, and Jon’s whole body chilled. He didn’t realize it had reached this far north. That it wouldn’t have died down after two years.

Jon’s vision clouded, his body strung tight, aching for a fight. He felt hands on him then, pushing him out the door. The door slammed again behind him, with Sansa still inside. The cold air threw him back into focus. He punched the post beside him, letting the anger and frustration out through his fist. He was about to head for the truck to wait when he heard yelling. He turned to go back in, thinking Sansa was in trouble, but he realized she didn’t sound hurt, she sounded furious. He couldn’t hear the words she was saying but he could take a guess by the tone. It was probably the same things he would have said, had said on his first pick up with the poor wolf until Mormont made him wait in the truck.

“Let’s go.” Sansa sounded cold and the door slammed behind her. The paperwork was shoved under her arm and her face was nearly as red as her hair.

 _It’s going to be a long six hours_ , Jon sighed.

“I’ve got a spare set of clothes back here,” she commented, sliding into the back seat instead of the front. In the review mirror, Jon could see her start to shed her shit stained jeans. He shifted his eyes quickly back to the road. “I’ve got a pair of my brother’s jeans as well. Unless you’d rather wear those the whole way back.” Jon couldn’t tell what startled him more: the fact that she’d thought to bring a spare set of clothes, for both of them, or the fact that the warmth in her voice returned. 

He pulled over to change pants and accepted the hoodie she offered as well. He thought that she should go on all pick-ups now, given that she’d thought of everything.

 

* * *

The drive back was somehow quieter than the drive up had been. Sansa appeared lost in thought, spending nearly all six hours staring out the windows, aside from when she offered him food from her bag and when they stopped at the bathrooms. The air about her wasn’t cold, the way it typically was when people found out, but it wasn’t the same as it had been that morning either, and that was just as bad.

They were about an hour from the shelter when Jon found her silence unbearable. It agitated him, the way she appeared to so readily believe the word of that woman whom they didn’t know. His leg was bouncing with need to set things straight, even if it made things worse. They were close enough now that he could deal with her reaction, no matter what it was. If it was as bad as it normally was, they would get back and he’d never have to see her again. 

“It’s not true,” he muttered at last. Sansa’s head turned sharply toward him.

“What’s not?”

“What the woman said. I’m not a murderer.” _Technically,_ a voice reminded him. _You did kill someone, but it wasn’t murder._ Sansa laughed.

“Well, I didn’t think you were.” _She doesn’t know._

“I was tried for manslaughter, though.” He tensed, waiting for the reaction. When it didn’t come, he hurried on, hoping to get his story out before she made up her mind about him. “We were driving back from a wedding, it was late, and winter. We’d both been drinking, but I wasn’t above the legal limit.” He thought that was an important detail. It was half of what won him the case. “The roads were icy. We spun off. Hit a tree. She…” He wanted to close his eyes against the memory, but he had to watch the road, especially while telling this story with another redheaded woman in the passenger seat. “She died two days later.” Retelling the story was more painful than he expected it to be.

His breath caught when her hand closed over the one that rested on the gearshift.

“I can’t see how that was your fault. How did they ever think…?”

“Her parents. They weren’t overly fond of me. They didn’t want us together, and when she died as a result… They blamed me. They wanted murder, but settled for manslaughter.” She made a sound that indicated pity and Jon hated it, but she was the first to pity him instead of being disgusted by him. “They were outraged when I was found not guilty.”

“That hardly seems fair to you. You were grieving, too.” Her hand tightened on his and his heart constricted at someone finally being on his side. He didn’t realize how much he’d yearned for it. Her hand stayed there for the last hour of the journey.

At the shelter, Sansa waited out front while Jon took the dog in to the back to Mormont and Tormund. He recounted where he found the poor thing, and handed over the paperwork. He left out the bit about being called a murderer and Sansa yelling at the couple. Mormont shooed him out of the shelter then, telling him to go shower and get something to eat, in that order.

When he came back out, Sansa was still there.

“Will he be all right?” she asked anxiously.

“Should be. Once he learns to trust humans again.” She nodded, looking as if she was hesitating.

“I wanted to thank you for taking me with you. And apologize for that damned couple. I think I’ve set them straight, but you never know with people like that.”

“All that yelling? That was about _me_?” She nodded and he couldn’t think of any time when someone had done anything that kind for him. “Thank you, Sansa.” She shrugged.

“It’s all anyone would’ve done.” _No, not anyone_ he wanted to say, but he didn’t. Jon couldn’t believe this beautiful woman in front of him was as kind as she was.

“San—Jo—sa—“ They started at the same time. She colored and Jon ducked his head at the awkwardness.

“We should hang out sometime,” Sansa started before he could again. “I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while, but you always seem so busy,” she admitted.

“Yeah, all right.” He couldn’t help but smile when her whole face lit up at his response.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then? Thanks again for today, Jon.” She stepped forward, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. The bell chimed to tell him that she’d left, even though he could still feel her lips against his cheek. He couldn’t believe his luck.

 

 


End file.
